made brief inquiry of
her companion, promising herself good measure of superficial
entertainment which should serve to banish that pathetic countenance,
and allay her suspicion of a sorrowful happening which she was
powerless alike to hinder or to help.

Lord Shotover pushed his hands into his trousers pockets, leaned far
back on the sofa, turning his head so that he could look at her
comfortably without exertion and chuckling, a little, as he spoke.

"Well, you see," he said, "I brought Decies. No, you're right, I'm not
shy, for to do that was a bit of the most barefaced cheek. My sister
Louisa hadn't asked him. Of course she hadn't. At bottom she's awfully
afraid he may still upset the apple-cart. But I told her I knew, of
course, she had intended to ask him, and that the letter must have got
lost somehow in the post, and that I knew how glad she'd be to have me
rectify the little mistake. My manner was not jaunty, Miss St. Quentin,
or defiant--not a bit of it. It was frank, manly, I should call it
manly and pleasing. But Louisa didn't seem to see it that way somehow.
She withered me, she scorched me, reduced me to a cinder, though she
never uttered one blessed syllable. The hottest corner of the infernal
regions resided in my sister's eye at that moment, and I resided in
that hottest corner, I tell you. Of course I knew I risked losing the
last rag of her regard when I brought Decies. But you see, poor chap,
it is awfully rough on him. He was making the running all through the
winter. I could not help, feeling for him, so I chucked discretion----"

"For the first and only time in your life," put in Honoria gently. "And
pray who and what is this disturber of domestic peace, Decies?"

"Oh! you know the whole affair grows out of this engagement of my
little sister Connie's. By the way, though, the Calmadys are great
friends of yours, aren't they, Miss St. Quentin?"

The young man regarded her anxiously, fearful least he should have
endangered the agreeable intimacy of their present relation by the
introduction of an unpalatable subject of conversation. Even in this
semi-obscurity he perceived that her fine smile had vanished, while the
lines of her sensitive face took on a certain rigidity and effect of
sternness. Lord Shotover regretted that. For some reason, he knew not
what, she was displeased. He, like an ass, evidently had blundered.

"I'm awfully sorry," he began, "perhaps--perhaps----"

"Perhaps it is very